


Reconcile

by saucisson



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucisson/pseuds/saucisson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For betterreceived, and she knows why ;)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Reconcile

**Author's Note:**

> For betterreceived, and she knows why ;)

Agron presses his thumb against his fingertips: index, middle, ring, pinkie. Index, middle, ring, pinkie. He curls his fingertips into his palm and winces. He tries to press each fingertip against the heel of his hand and freezes with the shooting pain.

Nasir sleeps now, bare chest and shoulder exposed to the warm summer air from the open window. The tattoo on his shoulder is blue in the moonlight.

Agron had exploded when he first saw it.

\- What is this?! he had shouted, grabbing Nasir’s elbow. - Who has marked you slave?

\- I mark myself! Nasir had shouted back. - I mark my freedom! 

Flight from Italia brought them over the mountains into Eastern Gallia, a fact that burned in Agron’s chest like flame, though tempered by memories of Crixus’ valor. Nasir had seen Gannicus’ markings and commented upon them at the time, and now saw many more markings upon free Gallic men and women alike. He considered their meaning, and while they rested in one village, exchanging valuable news of Roma’s greedy reach into Northern land for shelter and supplies, Nasir declared his freedom upon his body.

Agron’s temper flared at the thought of a Gaulish claim etched into Nasir’s skin.

\- Let’s see it then, Agron says, pushing Nasir back. They look at the design, swirls and dots and arcing lines. 

\- These dots, Nasir said. - They are what I remember of a necklace my mother wore, when she held me. I was only a small child. These are the waves on the sea that took me from Syria with my brother. This line, he finishes, - this is the path I follow with you.

Agron is silenced by shame, answers by taking Nasir to the stable in which they sleep and pressing his small body into straw bedding, fucking him into writhing, grasping senselessness, apology accepted with Nasir’s throaty moans.

Index, middle, ring, pinkie.

Nasir sleeps now, breeze tosses his curls lightly. He cut his hair when they arrived, the layers of clothing worn by the Northerners pulled his locks into tangles. Agron watches him sometimes as he bathes with water drawn from their well, stripped to the waist and tipping water over his head. He flicks wet hair out of his eyes with a twist of his head, smiles when he notices his lover’s eyes upon him. Somehow Nasir looks even younger than he did when Agron first found him in that villa, before Sinuessa, before the Alps, before Caesar and his iron nails...

Every morning Nasir rubs Agron’s hands with salve that smells like comfrey. He traces fingertips along Agron’s palms, watching them twitch. He rubs his thumbs against them until Agron’s fingers curl. 

He also uses occupational therapy.

\- Give me pleasure, Nasir says. Agron frowns and looks away. They still fuck but its not the same. He used to grab and grip and hold and handle Nasir under him and now he fumbles and his hands slip and it hurts and Nasir is still sweet and and still pliant and still clings to him but its different. 

They are on a cushioned bench in their cottage, Nasir sits astride Agron.

\- Give me pleasure, he says again. He takes Agron’s hand, curls the fingers around his cock, presses his own fingers over them and slides their coupled hands up and down, slipping velvet-soft skin over hard muscle and grunting with each stroke. He comes quickly, laughs at the splatter dripping over his and Agron’s fingers. - Now you, he says, dropping to the floor to take Agron’s cock upon his tongue. Agron’s stiff fingers grip soft black curls, he sighs and closes his eyes, lets the the heat and wet on his cock take him over. He has his pleasure in Nasir’s mouth. His lover laughs at that too, wiping the back of his hand across his lips.

Index, middle, ring, pinkie.

Nasir sleeps now, his tattoo borne of impulse long since healed and another now on his other shoulder. They are safe here, Agron thinks. The war is far away. Rome has never succeeded in coming across the Rhine. They are safe...

Somewhere in his dreams, Nasir senses his lover watching and opens his eyes. He doesn’t move, just watches Agron watching him, seated on a bench across the room.

\- Come to bed? Nasir’s hoarse voice murmurs from the pillow. Agron nods and rises, crosses the room and slips under the bedcovers. Nasir presses into him, one arm across Agron’s chest. Agron runs his fingertips lightly along the arcing lines of the newest tattoo. Nasir’s breathing deepens and slows, his arm across Agron’s chest grows heavy. Agron turns his face into the dark curls, kisses them, breathes in his scent and edelweiss carried by the night air.


End file.
